


The Butler & The Lady

by runawaygypsy



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Butler!Tom, Erotic, F/M, Forbidden Love, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygypsy/pseuds/runawaygypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my submission for Sunday Smut Spotlight, the theme of which this week is "The Help." I'm not really going for a specific character of Tom's, more of an imagined one that was inspired by the photo below.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Butler & The Lady

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for Sunday Smut Spotlight, the theme of which this week is "The Help." I'm not really going for a specific character of Tom's, more of an imagined one that was inspired by the photo below.

 

"Thank you, Miss," he says as he takes my coat. My hand briefly touches his as I hand it over and then our eyes catch. For a moment, I am lost in the deep blue of his eyes and I suck in a sharp breath, prompting him to avert his eyes to the floor. "My Lady is in the parlor," he says quietly. I watch him as he stands up and backs away from me, eyes cordially avoiding mine.

 

I nod, even though I don't think he sees me. "Thank you...." I realize he hasn't introduced himself and I don't know his name. But, it is too late to ask, as he has already disappeared into some unseen shadow of the foyer. With a sigh, I walk towards the parlor, hearing the click of my heels on the polished marble floor as it echoes through the grand hall. 

 

My childhood friend, Miryam had married well, I muse as I look around at the finery of her new house. She and I had grown up privileged girls, gone to private schools together, finishing school. Her greatest desire was that I should marry as well as she had, but, thus far, I had been uninterested in any of the men I'd met. Their political chats bored me, their society balls, while wonderful for dancing proved to be the bane of my existence as they bored me with drabble about the weather and other benign topics. I was here to be introduced to yet another friend of her husband's that she held hope I would be interested enough in to let him court me.

 

Miryam emerges from the parlor in grand fashion, green brocade skirts swirling with crinoline beneath as she sweeps me up and kisses my cheek. "Oh, don't you look divine!" she exclaims, holding my hands out at arms length. "Harry will just eat you up!" Her husband's name is James, so feel safe in assuming that Harry is the friend to which I am going to be introduced.

 

"Miryam, it's always a pleasure," I say cordially. "I wanted to thank your butler for taking care of my coat, but he disappeared before I could get his name," I say. In truth, it is his face that I can't get out of my head, his mesmerizing eyes.

 

She smiles, "Oh, that's Thomas," she answers, "We've only recently been hired, since we lost Frederick to the flu last winter." 

 

I nod and she leads me into the room. At first glance I see James, leaned against the high back of a chair, cigar in one hand, snifter of brandy in the other. "Hello, Victoria," he nods. "I'd like you to meet my friend, Harry." Following his gaze, my eyes settle on an eyesore of a man. To be fair, he's not ugly, just not handsome by any stretch of the imagination. He's wiry, nervous, black hair matted against his head as though it were held there by sweat, brown eyes drilling into me. "Harry's family owns the Chateau Winery in Provence," James adds, as though I am shopping for a pedigreed dog rather than looking or a husband.

 

Harry approaches and holds out his hand, bidding for me to take it. "Henri," he nods, his thick French accent is prevalent. "Monsieur James insists on calling me Harry." Despite the accent, his English is quite good. As I offer him my hand, he kisses the back of it, sloppily. "I am pleased to meet a creature of such great beauty."

 

I blush as I reclaim my hand and find that, for the remainder of the afternoon, I am to be subjected to unwelcome advances perforated by benign conversation about subjects that I have no interest in. The men's voices drone on while Miryam plays the part of dutiful wife and hostess, eschewing the servants' help and flitting around the room refreshing drinks and joining in the banter. Each time Henri defers to me, I only nod and attempt to scoot away from the arm that keeps trying to clutch around my waist.

 

Halfway through the droll day, Thomas enters the room and asks to speak with James, but his eyes settle on me and he drinks me in, giving a little smirk as he spies Henri's hand resting against the small of my back. I shift uncomfortably, conscious he is watching me. I have no idea why I want him to know that I am not with Henri, that the man has no claim on me, but I do. There's something about Thomas that I can't shake off, something that tells me he is above this station, that he is otherworldly. As he leaves the room, I need an excuse to follow. "Excuse me," I say demurely, "I need to powder my nose." My audience all smile and nod, this being the code of proper ladies, and I am free.

 

As I enter the hallway, I hold my breath, listening for the sound of his shoes on the floor, or perhaps the sound of his voice as he speaks with another of the servants, but I hear nothing but silence and the hum of the conversation I have just left. I venture out further into the house, not sure where to look, following instinct. As I round a corner and head towards the library, he steals up behind me. "May I help you, Miss?" he whispers. I know he is only inches from my neck. I can feel the moist heat from his breath against my skin and my own breath hitches. I turn to face him and, this time, he doesn't avert his eyes and they say everything. He wraps his arms around me and backs me up against the wall with kisses tenderly fluttering against my lips. I weave my hands behind his neck and into his hair, a soft moan escaping as I return his kisses. We are floating, together, until we need to catch our breath. Embarrassed, he pulls himself from me. "Oh, I shouldn't have done that," he blushes.

 

"You can do it again, if you'd like," I return boldly. I know that this behavior is not appropriate for a proper Lady, but, frankly, I don't care.

 

Thomas smiles at me and gingerly grasps my hand. "Let's go somewhere more private," he says. I find myself guided into the vast library and up a spiral staircase to the second level. My attention is momentarily diverted by the stacks, shelves upon shelves of volumes. "There's a small reading room up here," he is saying. 

 

I am feeling delirious, both because of the sight of the library, its smells, its comfort, as well as the touch of his hand. "Alright," I say, my voice barely a whisper as I follow him towards the door to, what I assume is, the reading room. 

 

He opens the door and we are bathed in the bright light that floods the room from the single window at the other end. There is another shelf full of books that fills one wall and a velvet settee sits opposite of it. Thomas bids me to sit as he closes the door gently. He takes a seat next to me on the settee and wraps his arms around me. "I fell in love with you when I first saw you," he whispers as he pulls my hand to his mouth. He lavishes attention on my hand, kissing each finger individually, keeping his eyes on me the whole time.

 

"Thomas," I sigh, unable to take more than a shallow breath. He takes this as further invitation, his kisses peppering my arm, then my neck. I close my eyes and lean my head back, giving him access to more of my flesh, which he took to with voracious appetite, kissing nibbling, licking, delving between my breasts with a groan. My conscience told me that this was not what what a proper lady should allow, but I was beyond saving. I grasped his hand and placed it upon my breast, letting out a small gasp when I felt him take the invitation and squeeze. "Thomas," I whisper. "How do you exist?"

 

He answers only with a dark chuckle before reaching down and hiking up my skirt, running his hand up my leg. "Is this alright?" he asks. 

 

"I'm all yours," I smile, knowing full well that my reputation is on the line, should we get caught, and that my chances of marrying well would be slim, but I don't care. He is the only one I want. I desire the feeling of his hands all over me and crave the abandon of giving myself to him completely. 

 

Thomas kisses me, harder than before, lips mashing into mine roughly and bruising, his hands now given permission to explore untie my underthings and slide them down over my hips, giving him access to me in a way no man has ever had. His fingers dance from my hip to my mound and I let out a soft mewl as he delves them into the wetness he finds as he pets me. 

 

I am aware that I have now passed the point of no return and I have no qualms about it. There is nothing more that I crave than this touch, his touch. Each movement shoots to my core, sending pulses of heat that begin to ball up into one mass of tension. "Have you done this before?" I ask, not sure if I want an answer. In my mind, we are both virginal, though the way he touches me, explores me, tells me otherwise.

 

He chooses not to answer, instead concentrating on his ministrations. I lean back against the arm of the settee and open myself to him and he presses against me, close enough that I can feel the taut fabric of his trousers as his manhood pushes against it. As if on instinct, my hands meet him, caress him through the fabric. He responds with a groan that makes me shudder. I undo the clasp fastening his trousers and shove them down, their loosened fabric falling down past his knees. He shakes them the rest of the way off and winks at the expression I make upon seeing him unfettered. 

 

I spread my legs and slide my own hand down, curious to feel what he felt and the result is electric. He leans into me, palm over my own fingers, and whispers his instruction. "Now, find that bit right there," he purrs into my ear, "Feel it, swirl your finger around it." He joins me in teasing, our fingers together. I close my eyes. I've been taught that touch like this is wrong, but now, I don't want to be right. My hips rise and fall against his, pinning our hands in between us. The tension in my belly heats up with each movement and, before long, I am writhing against him, panting and moaning, filled with something I've never felt before. "Yes," he hisses as I let go of my composure for good, my body spasming against him, my keening, my voice muffled by his mouth.

 

Thomas pulls our hands from me, pinning my arm above my head as he fills me with himself. The sensation of being filled and stretched completely makes me draw in a sharp breath, holding it for a moment, letting it out as he lets me adjust. He pulls himself from me just slightly, then thrust in again. His movement electrified me. I ground my hips against him, rising up with each thrust and meeting him hip to hip. I wrap my free arm around him and hold him just above the cleft of his muscular backside, feeling the sinews of him as he moves inside me. The fire returns, my body on fire for him and I am awash in ecstasy once again, my broken voice crying out as I clench around him, my limbs shaking. 

 

I wrap myself around him, feeling him move inside me, his thrusts more insistent until I feel him twitch inside me and the heat of his own release in my depths. He bucks against me, inciting my own body to respond in kind, washing me in waves of rapture once again until I am reduced to nothing but feral, animal screams stifled by his kiss. 

 

As my movements slow, then stop, he pulls himself from me. "My darling," he smiles, intertwining his fingers with mine. 

 

There is a noise outside the door just before it flies open, our efforts to compose ourselves coming to a hault. "Victoria!" Miryam exclaims. She's flustered, unable to say more than that as I stand up.

 

Thomas follows suit, his hand clasped in mine. "Miryam," I respond, clearing my throat. "I appreciate you bringing me here to meet Henri, however, I couldn't marry a man like that, no matter his pedigree." I squeeze his hand and continue. "I've no bearing for a man's station in life, I will choose to marry for love."

 

With a keen eye, she sees everything suddenly very clearly. "You were not invited here to fall in love with the help," she narrows her eyes at me. 

 

"I didn't plan on it," I retort as I begin to walk past her, taking Thomas with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Image found on carymono.tumblr.com


End file.
